Old Man Churl: A Winter Solstice Story
by L Zaza
Summary: Friends gather and reminisce around Commander Adama's table during Winter Solstice Festival.


Old Man Churl: A Winter Solstice Story

By Lisa Zaza

Twinkling lights, the lingering aroma of their feast, the easy laughter of friends—it had all the endearing and familiar components that made the Winter Solstice Festival one of Starbuck's favourites. Oh, some might scoff and say that to replicate it while journeying across the universe was an idea inspired by too much drink; after all, the passing of the seasons in the Twelve Worlds was hardly relevant out here. However, on a journey such as their ragtag Fleet had undertaken, honouring Colonial traditions—no matter their origin—had become an essential part of maintaining Fleet morale. Reminiscing over pleasant times in their past gave them renewed hope for their futures.

Starbuck leaned back in his chair, taking a long, slow drag of his fumarello as he let the comforting sensations of a full stomach and easy company lull him into a familiar complacency. He nodded briefly as Boomer silently offered to refill his ambrosa from the other side of the table, the bottle poised over his goblet. At the head of the table Adama regaled those gathered for the feast with tales of Winter Solstice celebrations long passed.

"Thousands of yahrens of human history have enfolded this season in celebration, folklore and tradition***.**" His rich voice seemed to roll across the table, like a venerable prior reciting the _Book of the Word_. "In ancient times, the festival was the last feast celebration before deep winter began, Boxey. The harvest was in, bovine that couldn't be fed during the winter were either let loose or slaughtered, and nectar and grog were finally fermented and ready for consumption." Adama's features were cheerful and relaxed, as he relayed his own recollections, many of them passed down in lore. "We keep that custom alive with our own Winter Solstice feast to honour our forefathers and their traditions." He raised his goblet to those at the table. "May we remember the abundant joy, fierce hopes and enduring traditions of all our ancestors this Winter Solstice*."

Apollo smiled, looking upward, seemingly lost in thought for a moment before he lightly touched Athena's arm. "I remember Mother used to cook for sectons before Winter Solstice Festival to get everything ready. Everything had to be perfect."

"And it always was." Athena nodded, her dark head tilting closer to her brother's as she sat beside him. "Recipes for delicacies were passed down from generation to generation. I recall that Mother seemed determined to make each and every one. _Mmm_ . . ." She grinned, her mouth watering in remembered ecstasy at the sumptuous dishes that used to fill their household during the twelve days of celebration.

Boomer chuckled. "_I_ remember our family decorating _every_ room in the house with sparkling lights and a collection of treasures that were handmade." He waved a hand towards the commander's glimmering lights, and the few figurines randomly placed around the room that Boxey had made in Instructional Period. "I still remember my mother carefully unwrapping each ornament, entrusting its placement to each child in turn, oldest to youngest . . ." He paused, smiling at the confirming nods around the table. It was a familiar image to most present. "There was a story and a name attached to almost everything that we had. Great Grandfather's handcrafted carvings, Great-Great Grandmother's woven tapestry, Mother's beautiful angels, right down to my little sister's wreath that she had made from pinecones . . ." He averted his eyes for a moment, a sad smile lingering on his lips for mere microns before he reached for his goblet and took a sip. Then he sighed. "Lords of Kobol, _every_ yahren it would fall apart, and _every_ yahren Flora would determinedly put it back together . . ."

Athena lightly touched his arm. "It was a special time for family."

"_And_ friends," Sheba swiftly added, with a glance at Starbuck.

Starbuck raised his goblet to the lady, taking another sip of ambrosa. Losing the last of her kin when the _Pegasus_ had disappeared taking on three Cylon Base Ships, Sheba had a tendency to be more empathetic than most to those without family.

"On Caprica, we decorated outside too, Boomer," Sheba related, smiling softly in remembrance. "Lights were everywhere. Angels too."

"On Gemon, angels were the guardians of the Yuletide spirit," Cassie said.

"On Caprica too." Sheba nodded. "Oh, and a cedar bough with a bow of golden ribbon was hung on every front door as a symbol of neighbourly hospitality. People would drop by with small tokens, always handcrafted or home-cooked. It was a time for coming together, for connecting with extended family, neighbours and friends."

"It was also a time to remember peace and goodwill, and that as a nation of Colonials _we_ had coexisted peaceably for a millennium," Adama said.

"For good reason," Starbuck added, not elucidating on the fact that the war with the Cylons had been the impetus for that legendary period of alliance. The commander nodded at him soberly. Meanwhile, Boxey was eating up the stories, practically vibrating in excitement, as he listened to the adults. Starbuck glanced over at him, remembering his days in the orphanage. _Lords, to be that young again . . . _

"And the Yuletide _smell_ . . ." Cassiopeia added, taking a deep breath, as though the very fragrance she was thinking of was still lingering in the air. Like a necromancer conjuring up a spell, she waved a hand in front of her, trying to recapture the memories. "Evergreen boughs, mulled nectar, incense . . ."

"And there was nothing better than snow during Winter Solstice," Adama chimed in. "In Caprica City, it was often the first snowfall of the yahren. I can still remember the crunch of it under my feet and the cool, crisp nip in the air. There was something so . . . _magical_ about it."

"Yes. Especially when they closed the schools," Athena added with a mischievous grin. The others laughed, remembering similar childhood experiences.

"What about you, Starbuck?" Boxey suddenly asked, innocently. "What was _your_ favourite Winter Solstice memory?" The boy's eyes were wide with excitement and the irrepressible joy that the holiday could instil in a child.

Starbuck blew out a breath of smoke above his head, watching it coil in the air for a micron before it faded away. He realized gradually that all eyes were on him. It was a simple question that shouldn't have fazed him, and normally wouldn't have. However, it was the reaction of his friends around the table—their subtle, but clearly uncomfortable glances at him over a prolonged and notable silence—that in the moment made a difference.

Sure, Winter Solstice in the Caprican Childcare System was a little different from the stories spread around the table that night, lacking in the rich familial traditions that were featured. But what you never had, or at least you didn't remember, you just didn't miss. He had never even considered the possibility that his own experiences of the holiday should be diminished in comparison. Until now. And by the suddenly guilty faces around him as he was seemingly put on the spot, he knew the others didn't realize that. Well, he'd never been shy about telling people how wrong they were before. He smiled at Boxey, taking another sip of his ambrosa before placing the goblet on the table. "Well . . ."

"By all the Lords, look at the centar!" Apollo abruptly announced, glancing at his chrono. "I guess I got carried away by the evening. Boxey, if we don't get you to bed soon . . ."

"Ah, Dad!" the youngster protested, his face falling. "I want to hear some of Starbuck's stories! He always tells the best stories!"

"Hey, listen to the kid. He's making a lot of sense!" Starbuck grinned, supporting the youngster.

"There's a reason for that," Boomer smiled across at his friend. "Starbuck's stories are usually intended to entertain, rather than to be any kind of factual account . . ."

It was classic. The ritual teasing between friends meant to get them out of a potentially uncomfortable conversation. They were warriors, after all.

"Now, Boomer," Starbuck waved a finger at him. "Don't go starting rumours. Boxey knows that every word that passes my lips is the absolute truth . . ."

"Or some variation thereof," Boomer replied.

"Usually distorted," Athena smiled.

"Certainly embellished." Cassie giggled.

"Possibly even proofread," Sheba quipped.

"What is this? Winter Solstice or Pick On Starbuck Day?" the warrior rejoined, rolling his fumarello on the rim of the ashtray, as the mood lightened once again.

"The two go hand in hand, actually." Apollo chuckled, beginning to rise.

"Like puffed maize and firethorn berries," Starbuck inserted, as Apollo paused for a moment, his eyebrows raised in question. The lieutenant motioned for his friend to take a seat, reaching over to top-up the nearest goblets with ambrosa once again. "Take a load off, buddy. I have the floor now. After all, a gathering around your father's table wouldn't be complete without one of my stories."

"Hear, hear!" Adama said heartily, raising his goblet to the younger warrior. "The telling of tales during Winter Solstice is tradition, after all."

"Well, Starbuck _is_ the master," Boomer ribbed his friend.

Apollo let out a dramatic sigh, once again taking a seat. He spared a look at Boxey. "Maybe we have time for a _short_ story." He smiled in amusement, as he considered his best friend. "If that's possible in the context of the Continuing Adventures of Starbuck."

Boxey let out a cheer, as the other adults lent their cheerful murmurings of support. Then the child asked exuberantly, "Puffed maize and firethorn berries, Starbuck?"

"Oh, yes." Starbuck nodded, sitting back in his chair. "When I was a kid about your age, Boxey, I lived in a little community not far from Umbra called Annulus. We'd scour the countryside for a solid secton before Winter Solstice Festival, searching for the plumpest, reddest firethorn berries. One day we found a treasure trove of them." He smiled wistfully. "Old Man Churl, the unfriendly neighbourhood miser, had a hedge of firethorn bushes that surrounded his entire estate. He had the most enormous, beautiful house I'd ever seen and lived in it all alone. He had stables with magnificent equines. Even had his own piscon pond. It used to ice over during winter and every kid in Annulus would dream of playing Shinny on it."

"Shinny . . ." Apollo sighed, getting a far away look. "We called it Outdoor Puck in our neighbourhood. We'd while away centars on this iced over creek not far away . . ."

"We played the street version," Boomer added with a grin. "The fewer rules, the better." He chuckled. "I don't recall any firethorn berries though."

"Nice segue, Boomer." Starbuck grinned, picking his story back up. "Well, Old Man Churl had them in abundance. We used to raid those bushes, picking every last berry we could carry to take back to the orphanage. Then we'd string them with puffed maize and wind them around cedar boughs, making metrons upon metrons of garlands that were hung from the banisters, the ceilings, the pictures, every possible place in the orphanage that a kid could come up with. Of course, if the matron knew where we got them, she would have skinned us alive."

"Sounds like an element of subterfuge was involved," Boomer chuckled. "Remember, Boxey, this was back when young Starbuck didn't have the sobering influence of Apollo or I to temper his more impulsive tendencies . . ."

"So this could get ugly," Apollo warned them wryly.

"Amazing he made it through puberty, really," Athena added teasingly.

"That's _another_ story," Apollo rejoined.

"Best left for locker rooms, I suspect," Boomer said.

"Tell us more, Starbuck!" Boxey encouraged him, leaning forward in his seat and cradling his head in his hands, as he rested his elbows on the table.

"Well," Starbuck continued, "the best berries were usually the highest up and always the ones that were the most difficult to get. And there was a certain measure of pride involved when a guy could fill his bag from _within_ Old Man Churl's impenetrable fortress."

"Driven by the glory," Apollo laughed, also relaxing back in his chair.

"Hey, many a kid in Annulus had tried to break into Churl's Fortress and every one of them had failed." Starbuck leaned forward, lowering his voice dramatically and whispering conspiratorially. "He had guard daggits. Mangy, mean, and trained to keep people out. They said he liked to put them out hungry, so they were more motivated to please their master."

"He didn't like people?" Boxey asked.

Starbuck raised a finger, nodding. "That's pretty much what we thought."

"Ah, vicious guard daggits, a wall of thorns, a mean old recluse—now I can see why you were so tempted," Boomer laughed. "Honestly, you haven't changed since you were six."

"Have too."

"Have not."

"Have too!"

"Now, boys!" Adama lightly admonished them, losing his meagre attempt at keeping his features serious, as he swirled the ambrosa in his glass. "Some measure of decorum, please."

"Of course, Commander," Boomer nodded, trying to compose his features and not having much success.

"Yeah, Boomer," Starbuck said. "Besides, if you don't stop interrupting, Boxey is never going to hear the tale of how I single-handedly saved . . ."

"What _was_ her name, Starbuck?" Cassiopeia interrupted, the group subsequently dissolving into peals of laughter.

"Cute, Cass," the lieutenant replied with a grin, lazily fingering his fumarello before taking another puff.

"Did you get caught, Starbuck?" Boxey asked eagerly. "When you snuck inside the firethorn hedge?"

"With guard daggits belonging to a miserly and miserable old man named Churl," Adama paused to reflect on some of the finer points of the story so far, "some of us would be very surprised if the answer was 'no'." The commander's eyes sparkled with merriment at his grandson's excitement. "I can only imagine that keeping tabs on you as a child, Starbuck, must have been a fulltime assignment for your poor matron."

"Actually, Matron had it figured out by the end of my first secton there that it would take a _team_ of care workers and at least two attending Lords of Kobol for that," Starbuck returned, as the others laughed. "And no, I didn't _exactly_ get caught . . ."

"As usual, Starbuck has a less narrowly defined meaning for 'getting caught'," Sheba jested merrily.

"It's all in the point of view, Sheba," Starbuck reminded her.

"What happened, Starbuck?" Boxey begged.

"Yes, what happened?" asked Sheba. "At this rate, Boxey will be shaving before you're done."

"Well, it was just about dusk when I found a spot in the firethorn hedge that was a bit sparse. I was the only one with the guts to go in. Orion and Eris stayed behind, standing guard, or so they told me. I crawled through and since there was no sign of the daggits, I started filling my bags. I could almost _taste_ the glory, _feel_ the triumph." He smiled in remembrance at the imagination of a young boy who had envisioned being paraded around on the shoulders of his friends and regaled as a hero. "After all, my name would go down in history as the first orphan from Annulus to make it in and out of Churl's Fortress in one piece."

"And then?" Athena asked expectantly.

"I heard this growl from behind me."

Boxey sucked in a loud breath.

"I turned to see the daggits, both of them black as midnight and big as a lupus, with glowing red eyes and vicious teeth meant to rip intruders to shreds. They snarled and barked, alerting the household that I was out there, while at the same time staying only a pace away from me. I hadn't been that scared since . . .well, not for a long time."

"And?" Sheba probed.

"Let me tell you, I thought I was a goner. The worst part was that with daggits I couldn't talk myself out of this one."

"Bet you still tried though," Boomer said.

Starbuck grinned. "They passed on my suggestion we play a hand of cards, the stakes being my freedom, of course."

"_Starbuck_ . . ." Athena chastised him, with a pointed look at Boxey.

"I know he's joking, Athena." The boy looked very pleased with himself. "Go on, Starbuck. Tell us more."

"I slowly backed up, hoping I could get to the hole in the hedge. But I'd covered a lot more ground than I realized and I wasn't anywhere near it. I could see a light coming on at the rear of the estate, but the Great House was so far away that I couldn't really make anybody out. Finally, this voice in the distance demanded, 'Who's there?' It had to be Old Man Churl. I was so scared by then that I just kept backing up one centimetron at a time, praying that the daggits wouldn't attack." He picked up his goblet, swirling the contents, before taking a sip. Then he drew lazily on his fumarello for a couple microns, which he knew probably felt like sectars to Boxey.

Adama cleared his throat.

"_Starbuck_. . ." Boxey whined.

The warrior grinned. "I took another step backwards, there was a loud crack, and suddenly I was falling. It turned out that I had fallen into an old well that had dried up, covered up with a plank yahrens before that had finally rotted through. It was just my luck that I found it."

"That seems to be a recurring theme with you, son," Adama smiled at him, shaking his head in amusement.

"Whatever do you mean, Commander?" Starbuck returned, deliberately obtuse. "Anyhow, I hit bottom hard, the breath knocked right out of me. For the longest time I just lay there in the mud, trying to catch my breath. Then I heard Old Man Churl calling the daggits back to the house. At least I didn't have to worry about them eating me."

"Why didn't you call for help?" Boxey asked.

"Well, the truth was that I didn't want to get caught on Old Man Churl's property. I knew I'd be thrashed within a centimetron of my life if the matron caught wind of it. . . or so every kid of that generation figured," he amended with a glance at a startled Boxey.

"But because you didn't, you had new problems," Apollo surmised.

"Yeah," Starbuck nodded. "I couldn't get out on my own. I tried climbing up the pit, using roots or rocks to find a hold, but the walls were slippery and every time, I fell back in. I remember thinking at the time that Old Man Churl probably dug the pit himself, hoping that unsuspecting orphans picking firethorn berries would fall in."

"And I thought _I_ was raised in a tough neighbourhood," Boomer mused.

"But didn't your friends go for help?" Boxey asked.

"Uhh . . . things were a little different back then, Boxey," Starbuck explained. "If they went for help, then they implicated themselves by association. It was better just to say that they didn't know where I was."

"Better for _them_," Apollo added, clearly not impressed.

"Well, they probably figured I'd find a way out of there and that way I would be the _only_ one in trouble." Starbuck shrugged. He had never held it against his friends. It still made a certain amount of sense to him, but then he was a survivor, not a humanitarian.

"It was our code as well, Bucko," Boomer nodded. "Don't rat out your friends. No matter what." He glanced at Boxey. "Unfortunately, we can all see where this is going. Right, Boxey?"

"What happened next, Starbuck?" Boxey whispered.

"It got dark. Cold. Finally, I was shivering so badly that I knew if I didn't get out of there, I'd probably freeze to death. Yeah, all of a sudden dealing with Matron's punishment seemed pretty tame by comparison." He rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly. "I started hollering, hoping someone would hear me. Anyone. I remember finally getting down on my knees in the mud, praying to God, promising I'd be good . . ."

"And I'll bet actually meaning it." Cassie smiled at him.

"At the time," he agreed. Again, Starbuck sucked on his smoke, savouring the aroma and flavour as they stared at him expectantly. "Then it began to snow."

Sheba groaned aloud.

"The first snow of winter." Starbuck glanced at Adama. "That night it didn't seem so magical."

"I imagine not," the commander replied, also leaning forward in his seat.

"Eventually, I reached this point where I didn't feel so cold anymore. Or scared. It was kind of weird . . . like I was somehow on the outside looking in. Then there was a noise above me. At first it was quiet, almost indiscernible. It sounded beautiful . . . like music . . ." Boxey's eyes were about to pop out of his head, and his mouth was open wide. The others contemplated his words thoughtfully, engrossed in the story. "Then eventually it changed, becoming almost brittle, abrasive . . . it sounded like . . ." He grimaced. "Well, like daggits _barking_. Talk about a downer." He was still unsure in his mind of what he had really heard. Had he been delirious? Or had it been something else? "Then a light shone down on me from above." He smiled slightly. "It was radiant. I thought at first that . . . that it must be an angel . . . that maybe someone up there was listening after all, but—typically, I guess—it was Old Man Churl instead."

"God moves in mysterious ways, Starbuck," Adama smiled at the warrior.

"Especially where I'm concerned," Starbuck murmured, shaking his head in bemusement as vivid memories drifted back to him, transporting him back for a brief moment in time.

"_Are you still alive, boy_?" Churl had hollered gruffly down at him

"_Yessss, sir_," Starbuck remembered stuttering. In an instant he had gone from relief to concern for his own neck when the matron got a hold of him. "_For_. . ._ for now, anyhow_."

"Then what happened?" Boxey pleaded.

"All of a sudden something hit me from above and this huge hairy thing was crushing me. I was a bit out of it by then, but I realized it was one of the guard daggits. It had jumped down into the pit with me."

"Sagan's sake . . ." Athena whispered.

"That's what I said. But instead of tearing me to pieces, it started licking my face," Starbuck explained. "It was trying to help."

"Did Old Man Churl rescue you, Starbuck?" Boxey asked.

"Yeah, he did. He stayed up there shining that light on me and talking to me until somebody brought a ladder. The warmth of that big daggit probably stopped me from freezing to death while we were waiting."

"Then they pulled you out of the hole and took you back to the orphanage?"

"Yes. In the biggest dang hover-limo you ever did see." He'd been stripped of his damp clothing and effectively swaddled in warm blankets, as well as liberally dosed with hot cocoa. He'd nodded off as he sat across from Old Man Churl on the soft leather seat, his feet dangling in the air. It had been his first taste of what it was like to live the good life. "Turned out that I had been missing for about three centars. Old Man Churl had caught the news broadcasted on the local Primary Report. Apparently, his guard daggits had been pawing and whining at the door since he'd brought them in. Since it wasn't the first time that kids had tried raiding his berry bushes, he put two and two together and let them out again, following them right to me."

"Lords, do you know how lucky you were?" Boomer said.

"Maybe that _was_ an angel you saw and heard, after all. A guardian angel," Cassie suggested.

"Or a guardian _daggit_," Boxey giggled, slipping a hand down to stroke Muffit beneath the table.

"So Old Man Churl wasn't the odious miser that you all thought he was," Apollo said.

"Not at all. The next day when I woke up, the countryside was blanketed in snow. It was magical." He smiled at Adama. "Old Man Churl invited everybody at the orphanage out to pick firethorn berries and harvest evergreen boughs from the nearby forest. And to play Shinny on his pond."

"I hope he covered the old well first," Athena said.

"Oh, yes." Starbuck nodded. "Now that's a day I'll never forget as long as I live. Fifty-odd kids and all of our care workers having the run of Old Man Churl's estate. There were games, singing, rides through the snow on his equines, Shinny . . . it was a dream come true."

"You must have worked up quite the appetite," Adama added with a smile.

Starbuck nodded, chuckling at the commander's leading question. "Yes, sir. Then he had us all inside for the most amazing feast. There were tables laden with food, some of which we'd never seen the likes of before. The smell was intoxicating. I remember one entire table was covered in sweets."

"_Mmm_ . . ." Boxey rolled his eyes in delight.

"So let me get this straight," Boomer said a little sceptically. "Old Man Churl takes one look at you and transforms from odious miser to Father Yule?"

"I often have that effect on people, haven't you noticed? Even hard and cruel Cylon centurions have been known to have their diode timers melt due to my mere presence," Starbuck countered with a laugh. "Seriously, I overheard Churl talking with the matron. Seems he had been a widower for yahrens with an only child. A daughter that I reminded him of. Blonde hair, blue eyes . . . I saw her picture. She was beautiful. There was something almost familiar about her . . " He hesitated for a moment, racking his brain as something from the distant past niggled at him, but stubbornly remained lost in his childhood memories. "I think her name was Gabriella . . . something like that. She fell in love with some charming, card-playing ne'er-do-well and, against her father's wishes, sealed with him. In a fit of rage, I guess Old Man Churl disowned her. And lived to regret it later."

"He never saw her again?" Cassiopeia asked sadly.

"I don't actually know," Starbuck admitted. "I think the sweets had distracted me by that point in the conversation. Or the promise of more hot cocoa." He patted his stomach in memory, before adding soberly, "Anyway, I heard later that he made a donation to the orphanage the next day and every Winter Solstice after that. And several times a yahren he would put on events for not only the kids at the orphanage, but all the children in Annulus. Armaments Day, Unification Day, the Feast of Settlement. All of them. He became the driving force behind building a community recreation centre. He was determined that there would be better things to occupy Annulus' youth than breaking into his estate to steal firethorn berries. He made a real difference. I missed the old man when I was moved to a foster home in Caprica City later. And yahrens after Iheard that he left his not inconsiderable fortune to the orphanage when he died. The house and grounds too, along with the cubits."

"It sounds like pulling you out of that old well became a life changing event for Old Man Churl," Adama mused.

"Perhaps he considered _you_ to be _his _Winter Solstice angel, Starbuck," Sheba said thoughtfully.

"Starbuck as a Solstice angel." Boomer laughed. "Now I've heard everything."

"Where are your wings?" Athena whispered to Starbuck.

"On my bird in the launch bay," Starbuck returned with a grin.

"Wow, Starbuck," Boxey enthused. "That sounds like the best Winter Solstice celebration, ever!"

"He does hate to be outdone," Boomer teased his friend.

"Which is why it rarely happens," Starbuck replied with an easy smile.

"On that note, it's time for Boxey's rest period," Apollo said, rising from the table.

"Aw, Dad!" the boy protested, but obediently got up. "Thanks for the story, Starbuck."

"Any time, kid."

With a hand on Boxey's shoulder, Apollo propelled his son towards the door. He paused by Starbuck's chair, letting Boxey say his goodbyes to his grandfather and the rest. "Nice story, Bucko. Might even be your best."

"Thanks," Starbuck nodded, raising his eyebrows in question as Apollo leaned closer.

"So tell me. Just between you and I . . . is that how it _really_ happened?" Apollo studied his friend dubiously. "Sounds a little_ too _good to be true."

"That's how _I_ remember it," Starbuck allowed with a smile. "Happy Winter Solstice, buddy."

"Happy Winter Solstice, Starbuck."

***********

With thanks to Senmut and Starbucko for beta reading.

*Also in recognition of the architects of a website on Christmas traditions, from which I borrowed many ideas and paraphrased a couple quotes. Unfortunately, as most of you know, this site does not permit me to link to another.

Lisa Zaza


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